Comes Down To
by adele4
Summary: DMC Alternate Timeline, Sparrington; Jack managed to barter the heart for his freedom from Davy Jones, and former Commodore Norrington finds the world a little unfair.


Notes: Dead Man's Chest Alternate Timeline, in which it is assumed that Norrington didn't get to steal the heart, and somehow they managed to get away from the fish-people on the beach _and_ Beckett's people lying in wait anyway.

Sparrow/Norrington, mention of canonical Elizabeth/Jack and Elizabeth/Will.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, I don't own the characters, this is just for fun and I make no profit with it.

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_**Comes Down To**_

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**_"You really have the luck of the devil."

Jack half-turns to the man who comes to stand by the railing besides him to look at the departing Flying Dutchman with the others. It was one Jack's conditions, that the ship leave like this, in plain sight, instead of going underwater right in front of them; he's figured it would make the crew less queasy if they get to see it (it certainly makes _him_ less queasy, not that he's about to admit that).

"You call that luck, mate?" he asks only later, when the Flying Dutchman is only a black spot before the horizon and the crowd around them begins to lighten, the men quietly going back to work without prompting. Norrington glances at him with unveiled contempt; Jack feels challenged. "It was all careful planning on my side, I'll have you know!"

He gestures exaggeratedly at the former Commodore with the last part; Norrington just continues to stare at him, unabashed.

"And what would you have done if Turner hadn't shown up right there, right then?" he asks.

"Ah!" Jack raises a finger, triumphantly, like Norrington just said something that, in a moment, will be proving his point, and waves the finger into Norrington's face; he steps back, irritated. Jack steals a quick, discrete glance at the sword at the other man's side: still incredibly easy to rile off, that one, for all his affectation of well-beyond-caring nonchalance, and quicker to attack now that he doesn't have the comfort of the stronger position on his side. Something's going to have to be done about this; he's had people who felt, rightly or not, that he'd wronged them in the past in his crew before – and all of them worked out better than Barbossa, who, as far as Jack ever figured out didn't – but he's beginning to think that maybe Norrington is too much. "I would have brought the chest back to me Pearl. Fishface wouldn't have sent his nasty beastie after us with it on board, the Pearl's faster than him, and all we'd have to do is keep moving until William there showed up with the key."

He crosses his arms and looks at Norrington triumphantly. Norrington stares back, more incredulous than contemptuous this time.

"_That_ was your plan?" he asks, disbelieving, as if this manages to even go _below_ his expectations.

Jack keeps his arms crossed and turns his triumphant look to a pout, and than a haughty one, and does a good impression of looking down at the taller man.

"I would have improvised something."

Norrington shakes his head at him and turns back to the sea, muttering something indistinct under his breath. Jack looks at him resentfully for a moment, then shrugs and turns the other way, leaning against the railing, and searches the deck for any sight of Will and Elizabeth or old Bootstrap, but can't find either of them.

"You gave it back," Norrington says suddenly.

Jack blinks and looks back at him; judging by the intrigued look on the former Commodore's face, this is something that has been eating at him.

"What are you talking about, love?"

"The chest. The key," Norrington clarifies impatiently.

"Ah." He shifts, leans back more comfortably and enjoys the sea-wind washing over him. He's not surprised Norrington doesn't understand that. "Aye, I did." He casts the man beside him a sly look. "Couldn't very well keep them onboard where the likes of you can pinch it."

Norrington clenches his jaw, and Jack just knows he's deliberating whether a jib about the lack of discipline and common decency among pirates in general and his crew in particular is worth implicating himself in it.

"Not very honourable of you at all, that," Jack goes on, when Norrington remains silent. "And you call _me_ a thief." Not that he wasn't glad of someone deviating Will's attention at the time.

Norrington just rolls his eyes.

"The thing hardly belonged to you," he snaps.

"There's that," Jack admits easily. "But the one who owns it is a fickle one, you don't want it in her hands either, mate. Trust me."

Norrington stares at him with narrowed eyes.

"_What_ are you talking about?" he says, but his tone strongly suggests that he doesn't believe anything he says could make sense of his nonsense.

"Nothing," Jack brushes it away; it's only a supposition anyway.

He's about to answer something anyway, preferably something inane, when he notices Norrington stiffen slightly next to him; Jack turns to the left to follow his gaze, and this time he sees both Elizabeth and Will, standing by the bow of the ship, very close to each other, and the image they form looks somehow more intimate than if they were touching. They're talking to each other quietly, mouth to ear, so they must feel each other's breath every time. He cocks his head to his side.

"You think she's still angry at me?" he wonders aloud.

"For sending Turner to Davy Jones?" Norrington asks back, rhetorically.

Jack shrugs and allows himself a small sigh a regret; he can tell he wouldn't have had much of a chance in any case, she would have gone back to him. But he'd never been looking to separate her from Will for good – though part of him, he admits, felt that Elizabeth clings to the more classically honourable part of herself because of Will more than for any morality of her own, and he would have liked to know what she's like without the constrains. Maybe not a good idea, to try to find out, in the end: pirate through and through, that one, he'd wager. He does wonder if Will knows. He suspects she does, at least.

When he tears his eyes away, he finds Norrington looking at him with a sort of mocking, amused bitterness. Jack glares at him briefly, before twisting his lips into a smile.

"You know, I've been thinking, and this–" he pushes himself off the railing and gestures Norrington up and down, in all his shabby glory "–is really your own damn fault more than anyone else's. No –" he holds up both hands in a conjuring gesture and steps close to the other man. " –listen to me. After I: save Elizabeth's life," he begins, in the already-tired voice of someone who knows he has a long list ahead of him. "Get her back out of the clutches of undead pirates; get us in a situation where you get your belle to propose to you; hand over Barbossa's whole crew; save the whelp; all _you_ had to do –" he leans forward at the "you", almost close enough to touch, but doesn't insist when Norrington recoils "–was thank me for me generous help, quietly see me off in a little boat to Tortuga, no-one would have had to know where exactly I went and how, aye? But you had to take me back to be hung all proper, and look where it got you." He marks a pause, and as if remembering only now that he mentions it that Norrington is now part of his crew: "You know, if you rest now you're working the night shift." He eyes Norrington suspiciously.

Norrington stares at him in silence, with that familiar air of contempt that Jack has known not to take seriously since the very beginning: for pretending to find him so beneath notice, the man has taken ample notice of him ever since they met – and if this is what Jack thinks it is, hopes it is, then he really wishes that he wouldn't have sublimated it into obsessive attempts to catch, shot, stab him. Downright unhealthy behaviour, for the both of them.

"Do you actually _believe_ the things you say?" Norrington eventually asks, sounding honestly curious as well as appalled.

Jack gives him a confused look and raises his chin in challenge.

"Nothing but the truth," he says.

"You ensnared me and my men into a fight against pirates that can't die, Sparrow," Norrington snaps. "And I suppose I should be grateful for that?"

Jack feels his mouth twitch.

"Captain," he corrects haughtily, to gain time.

Norrington rolls his eyes at him again.

"My apologies, Captain," he drawls out. "Do you know how many men I lost in that fight?"

"Look," Jack snaps, more irritated by the sarcastic "captain" than by the direct accusations and disrespect, "I told you to stay on your pretty boat with all your little canons, I told the crew to row out in _their_ boats." He mimics the movements with his hands right in front of Norrington's face. "'s not my fault no-one listens to me," he finishes, in a wounded tone.

Norrington grimaces like having to listen to him causes him physical pain. He doesn't do anything to remove himself from the situation, though, so Jack concludes that he's exaggerating. Still hopelessly repressed, he thinks. You'd expect that if he's become so fond of drink he'd have indulged in other pleasant so-called vices.

"You really think I should just have let you go," Norrington says, disbelieving.

"Well, it's what you ended up doing anyway," Jack throws back, with a mean grin. "You'd have done it my way, you'd still be Commodore, married to the –" he grimaces " –love of your life – though, just between you and me, she might have sailed away in the end all the same –, and everyone would have been happy! 'cept Will," he adds, in an afterthought. "But that's life, aye?"

"The only mistake I made was not to string you up right there on the Dauntless," Norrington says viciously.

"Not very correct, hm? And after I just saved your life. I did lift the curse for you."

"You were – are – a pirate, you deserved to be hung."

"Ah. So you would have dear Miss Swann –" he motions at her and Will with his head, without taking his eyes off Norrington in the process " –executed if you still had the authority?" Norrington just casts him a confused look. "She did associate with pirates of her own free choice, and she's a fugitive from the law." He grins at Norrington again, with familiarity, and leans close once again. "Bit like you, love."

Norrington clenches his jaw, and his hands briefly contract to fists by his sides.

"Now look, love," Jack starts again, and puts a companionable arm around the other man's shoulder; Norrington gives him an annoyed glance, but doesn't brush him off, so Jack leans in further, slumps his whole weight against him like he's too drunk to stand on his own. "If you're going to be part of me crew, we're going to have to do something about this." He gestures around vaguely with his free arm. "So why don't we skip all the accusations and slashing around –" he mimics holding a sword "– and move on to what you _really_ want?" He staggers around from Norrington's side to his front, without taking his arm off him, and leers at him, very close to his face. "Aye?" Norrington stares at him, and Jack's leer is replaced by a scowl. "You do know what I'm talking about?" he asks, sceptically. "You're not an eunuch as well?"

Norington opens his mouth, closes it again, and then very slowly, carefully, picks his hand off his shoulder.

"I've not sunk _that_ low yet," he says. "Unless that's part of my duties aboard your ship, _captain_?"

He turns away. Jack slumps his shoulders.

"Oh, come now." He moves back in front of Norrington, and takes hold of his collar, lightly. "You went right through a hurricane just to stay with me. You've been following me around ever since you found me in Tortuga. And you're making me responsible for everything that's wrong with your life. That kind of obsession is unhealthy, mate. Best to do something about it."

He leans back into Norrington's face, grazes his nose with his; Norrington steps back. Unabashed, Jack draws his arms wide open.

"I'm game," he declares genially. And," he adds, raising both index fingers. "You tried to kill me twice, and that's just counting recent instances, so I'm the one who has more to forgive. What says you, Commodore?"

Despite of the offer, he's not at all prepared for it when Norrington actually acts on it, violently drags him close by the shoulders and joins his lips with his, hungrily, pushes his tongue inside his mouth.

He's not complaining, though; he grinds his body against Norrington's, pushes back against his searching tongue, lets him control the kiss, enjoys the feel of his warm lips, of his stubble against his skin, and the already familiar taste of him he's only ever sampled the few times they've been close enough to each other for their breaths to mingle. Norrington's fingers dig into his shoulder with force – Jack isn't sure he could break free even if he wanted to – and his eyes are wide open and intent.

Then, just as briskly as he's dragged him close, Norrington pushes him away; Jack stumbles back a few steps, clumsily, smiles, stares at the former Commodore's very red lips and the faint blush at the base of his neck. Better than he expected, actually.

"No," Norrington states coldly, and straightens up his clothes, not that that has any effect. "I don't feel any better."

He turns away, back towards the sea. Jack glares at the back of his head for a moment, then comes to stand next to him again and leans backwards over the railing so he can see the man's face.

"Can't expect it to be _that_ easy," he says. "T'was just one kiss. Won't be enough after long months of longing." He smiles winningly. Norrington doesn't looks at him. Very emphatically doesn't look at him, Jack notes. Not a lost cause then. He pushes himself off. "Offer stands!" he throws back over his shoulder.

Norrington, of course, doesn't answer, but all in all, Jack is optimistic about that venture. Norrington will come around, eventually. They all do. Well, most – _some_ of them do, he relents, when his eyes fall on Elizabeth and Will still standing by the bow; he winces when he sees Elizabeth look at him, give Will a light shove, and then both of them wandering into his direction. _He_ doesn't think they have any reason to be complaining to him, but that doesn't mean _they_ agree. And there's that whole business with the compass; no way he's letting Beckett, of all people, get his hands on that – not unless he finds himself really, _really_ needing that letter of marque. They've seen how well Davy Jones is capable of guarding his precious treasure. Besides, Bootstrap is free, Elizabeth is safe, and Will didn't exactly _give_ him the key.

"Jack." Elizabeth's voice is kind, at least. "We need to talk to you."

"Anytime, love," he says insincerely, and bows his head.

He briefly glances back at Norrington and is surprised to find him looking at him with what almost looks like mocking sympathy. He gives the former Commodore a weak smile, then turns back to Will and Elizabeth, puts his arms around their shoulders, and guides them away.

~fin~

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_Comments are always greatly appreciated! ^^_


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